


Tragic Exes

by littlelost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Angst Up to Your Eyeballs, Anxiety, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Coda, Episode: s13e21 Beat the Devil, Growing Up, I'm Bad At Tagging, Loss, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, but more than a character study, but not a ringing endorsement either, like trying and failing to fix the last 8 seasons of canon, no happy endings here, not a lucifer/sam hatefest, not exactly a story, or maybe less fixing and more coming to terms with it, references to past torture, sort of fix it, well maybe happy for sam kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelost/pseuds/littlelost
Summary: They knew their own story, knew how “should be” turned into “could have been.” The only thing between them now was a sort of muted, companionable loathing.Coda to 13.21. Somewhere between death and Dayton.





	Tragic Exes

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after I saw 13x21 and it's taken me this long to refine it into... whatever this has become. It's not really a plot, too long for a drabble, and more than a character study. And, to add insult to injury, it's unbetaed. Apologies all around. The title comes from something I heard secondhand that Pellegrino said about Sam and Lucifer at a con, and I don't know if that's an accurate quote, but it felt right.

Caleb had always insisted that his ex-wife was the devil. 

This was before Sam’s dad had really known Bobby, before Singer’s Auto had turned into Sam and Dean’s home-away-from-home. They’d never known Elkins, the famous vampire hunter they heard about years later. Sam would be older before he realized he wasn’t the only one put off by their father’s uncompromising intensity. No one seemed to emerge unscathed except Pastor Jim, who possessed an unfailing patience that extended even to John Winchester. But if Pastor Jim wasn’t off on a hunt himself, he was busy with his church; minding two little boys for days while their father traipsed out to hunt monsters wasn’t something he had the resources for. Since Bobby wasn’t in the picture yet, and since John refused to take the boys back to Lawrence to leave with Missouri or any of the other friends he was slowly alienating, that left Caleb. 

In retrospect, Sam thought, Caleb probably wasn’t that old. His father’s hunter friend had to have been younger than Sam was now. Even so, he was old enough to have an ex-wife and a few kids of his own, who apparently would have been around more often if it wasn’t for Caleb’s ex, “The Devil.” 

Caleb didn’t completely bail like so many of John Winchester’s other associates, but eventually John must’ve done something, because one day they saw a whole lot less of him, and when Bobby came into the picture, he became the new Caleb. 

But before that, Sam and Dean spent months crammed into Caleb’s double-wide, dining on junk food, forced to listen to his grousing. 

“She’s the devil,” he would growl, slamming the phone back into its cradle against the wall, shaking his head and muttering as he passed tv dinner trays to two owl-eyed children. 

Dean hadn’t liked the comparison. Little Sammy was too young to be told the truth about demons and monsters, but for Dean, there was no shoving that genie back in the bottle. Grown-Up Sam hated the thought of his brother, once small and scared, carrying the weight of a dead mom and an alcoholic absentee dad... all the while afraid that the thing that had come after them could have been the actual devil for all they knew. It was just one in a long line of scars Dean had accumulated which Sam was helpless to fix.

Sam felt comfortable counting it against the literal devil. Just another sin to lay at Lucifer’s feet. 

“Um, Caleb? Maybe we shouldn’t talk about-” Dean would begin, frowning. 

Caleb always cut him off. “Don’t worry,” he’d say, tousling Dean’s hair. “It’s not really the devil. No matter what Jim tells ya, there’s no such thing as Satan. I’d know.” He smiled at them with the sort of confidence Sam would later come to identify with a parade of hunters who died young and messy. Himself and his brother included. “This one’s just a she-devil. Though that might be just as bad. I tell ya, boy,” he’d said, pointing at little Dean, “you gotta watch out for women.” Dean would watch Caleb with distrustful eyes, uncertain if he was being mocked. 

Caleb knew enough to know that where Dean’s mood went, so went Sam’s. “Sammy here knows what I mean,” Caleb would say, giving Sam a friendly nudge to lighten the room. “This one sees everything. Wise old eyes in that little man face.” He’d tapped Sam’s temple fondly, and Sam absorbed the compliment, though honestly he hadn’t known enough to understand what they were talking about. 

Now, as he trudged through the forest on this creepy interdimensional apocalypse world, Lucifer keeping an easy pace beside him, Sam wondered idly if Caleb would think him so wise. 

“What are you grinning at?” Lucifer studied Sam’s face with the intensity of a man burning an ant under a microscope. If that ant had a history escaping impossible scenarios when left to its own devices. 

“What?” Jarred from his reverie, Sam was both surprised and alarmed to be the focus of the devil’s attentions. The walk so far had been peaceful, or as peaceful as Sam could feel, considering. He supposed it had been a vain hope that Lucifer would keep communication to a minimum. 

Lucifer rolled his eyes and addressed Sam as if speaking to a child. “I said-” 

“Just... a weird memory.” 

“Which one?” the devil asked easily, and a part of Sam wanted to turn around and slug him for it, even knowing how painfully futile it would be. For knowing all of Sam’s memories as well as Sam himself did. 

“One about Caleb. It doesn’t matter.” 

Lucifer shrugged and allowed silence to descend around them again. Sam thanked whatever god had created this universe for small mercies. If there was anything that could have made this trek worse, it was Lucifer’s fondness for chewing the scenery.

The hike to Dayton would be long, and Sam half-wished Lucifer wasn’t juiced up enough to take on any rogue angels or mutated monsters in a single go. A fight would have broken up the monotony. A fight would have been a better distraction. 

It would also have slowed them down, which would be a mixed blessing. The faster they went, the nearer Lucifer got to Jack and everyone else. The more Sam dreaded the looks he’d get when he showed up with the devil in tow. Sam imagined the sheer disappointment on Dean’s face and guilt bubbled up thick and raw in his chest. The prospect terrified him as much as any satanic torture session. There were more than a few moments that Sam’s brain short-circuited and he had to force himself not to make a run for it - tear off into the woods, into the mountains, find a cave somewhere, preferably one without zombie vamps. He could just hide away there for the rest of his miserable life. 

At least then he wouldn’t have to watch as Lucifer destroyed everything Sam loved. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Lucifer whined, interrupting Sam’s latest internal meltdown. “I’m not going to kill anyone, promise. I meant what I said, Sammy, I’ve changed. I _am_ changing. Turned over a new leaf, dusted off the old halo, etcetera, etcetera.” 

Angels couldn’t really read minds, at least not without effort, but Sam understood the subtext. Lucifer knew his former vessel more than well enough to recognize Sam’s brooding-and-pensive shoulders. 

“If you don’t like what I’m thinking, you could always just leave,” Sam bit. 

Lucifer shot him an exaggeratedly disappointed look. “And leave my bunk buddy out in the middle of nowhere? It’s dangerous out here! There could be _angels_.” He cast a mock-furtive glance through the underbrush, and it took everything Sam had not to haul off and punch Lucifer square in the jaw, powered-up archangel or no. 

For all that Lucifer was the most obnoxious angel, and for all that he liked to hear himself talk, the next several hours passed without a word. Sam alternated between eyeing Lucifer and waiting for the other shoe to drop to angsting about what would happen once they made it to camp, to letting his mind fall blank and restive as they made their way through the apocalypse world. 

Once, Sam tripped and stumbled on something, and Lucifer caught his arm and steadied him, sighing heavily. But even then, they held their silence. Sam supposed when people had spent two lifetimes in each other’s company, it was hard even in the best circumstances to come up with a fresh topic of conversation. Or the worst circumstances, as was usually the case with Sam and Lucifer. 

They passed a sign claiming it was twenty-five miles to Dayton, and before that knowledge could launch Sam into a fresh spiral of anxiety, the devil spoke. 

“When did it end, for you?” 

_When did what end?_ Sam wanted to say. _I don’t know what you mean. I don’t care what you mean. There’s no reason for us to talk. Just shut up and let’s focus on getting to Dayton._

But Sam did know what he meant - again, hazard of that whole two-lifetimes-stuck-together thing. And as much as being near Lucifer brought ambivalent feelings of terror and numbness now, Sam had to admit, this line of questioning was... something new between them. Something Sam had wondered if Lucifer would ever acknowledge. Something Sam wondered if he himself was ready to acknowledge. 

Now that the moment was here, now that it was out in the open, bald-faced for them both to see, Sam realized he was ready. 

He laughed. “When you possessed the president.” 

Lucifer frowned and quirked his head, like Sam had just done something surprising for the first time in a hundred years. Maybe he had. 

For a moment, Sam found it was less effort than usual to return the gaze. 

“Really, Sammy? That recent?” 

“You expected a different answer?” 

Lucifer shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at something insignificant on the ground. “I just would have thought it was over long before that, for you.” 

Sam saw his past stretch out before him, a past where images of Lucifer haunted him at every turn, even when the archangel himself was absent. He ran a hand across his face. “It was a gradual process,” he admitted. “But the president... That was when I knew for sure.” 

“Huh.” The corners of Lucifer’s stolen lips turned down. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Why was that the kicker?” 

Sam laughed and started to answer, but thought better of it. He shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it.” 

“Oh, come on, Sam. Twenty-five miles and a big chunk of undersaturated forest left. I’m bored.” 

“Well,” Sam hedged. What the hell. Fuck it. “It was just... so... stupid?” 

Lucifer was a monstrous being, a titan of fire and light and malevolence, so Sam could be excused for expecting the devil to turn and begin ripping Sam’s guts out through his throat. Instead, Lucifer gave an exaggerated grimace and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Admittedly, not my best work. Would you be shocked if I told you that I just did it to get your attention?” 

Sam shrugged. “I figured.” 

Lucifer raised his brows. 

“You told me you were going to. When you were possessing Vince Vincente. You told me you’d make me watch you smash up all your dad’s ‘toys.’”

“Huh. I’d honestly forgotten I’d said that, in all the hullabaloo that followed. I was sort of on the angelic equivalent of a bender, if I’m being honest. Let’s just forget that all ever happened, capiche? In return, I promise I won’t tell anyone about that one time in the cage that I had you-”

“You could have just come to the bunker,” Sam said, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t really true. No matter what deep, dark parts of Sam had still felt it, had still held out hope, he would never have indulged them. For the same reason he most dreaded escorting Lucifer back with him now. 

Dean could have never understood. Could have never been made to understand. And Sam knew that Dean’s judgment was the only one, of the two of them, which could be trusted on matters of Sam’s heart. Especially where monsters were concerned.

Lucifer snorted. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. And then what? Would you have tried to lock me up in your dungeon? What would I have used for a vessel; you weren’t offering, obviously. Would you have seduced me with your kind-natured simplistic human ways, and eventually turned me into a good guy? Would we have lived in the bunker with your brother and his boyfriend angel and your mom? 2.5 kids and a white picket fence around the entrance? When people asked how we met, maybe we’d explain that oh, once I tried to destroy the world and take your body hostage, and when that failed, I spent a century and a half making sure you regretted it. You know, typical meet-cute.”

Sam didn’t answer. They both knew what was between them. They knew their own story, knew how “should be” turned into “could have been.” “MFEO” became “frenemies with severely fucked-up benefits.” Eventually, whatever this had been became less, and less, and less. 

Until here they were. Two enemies walking side-by-side, lacking what Sam had once known as passion of another brand. The only thing between them now was a sort of muted, companionable loathing. 

“So when did it end for you?” Sam asked. “If you already knew it would never have worked, why bother trying to get my attention?” 

Lucifer just laughed. “Okay, well, if you made me swear to Dad, I’d have to admit I still held out a little hope then. But honestly, it was Jack.” Sam couldn’t help but stare. “I know, I know, so cliche, right? Irresponsible asshole finds out he’s going to become a dad and it changes his life. But seriously, Sammy, I might not have changed all at once, but... I think it put some things in perspective.” 

“Your son was more important than me.” 

“Oh, don’t go all jealous spouse after the new baby comes home. It wasn’t like that exactly, it just... it gave me a sense of purpose, which honestly I’d been lacking since you dragged me down the hole and ruined, oh, you know, my entire life’s work and destiny and all that.” 

“I remember.” 

“Right.” Lucifer favored Sam with the kind of chipped-ice look that was the stuff of Sam’s nightmares, but it passed. “It wasn’t that he was more important than everything else I’d ever cared about... it was just that if I was going to... to make it happen, to do the dad thing, it felt important to try to be honest with myself about what I could and couldn’t accomplish.” 

At one point, Sam would have heard the words and understood them. He would have been powerless to fight the pang behind them. Not now. 

Lucifer continued. “I realized one of the things I couldn’t change was you. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how stupidly flesh and bone and human you were, I wasn’t going to bring you back. Not in this universe, or any other.” He shrugged. “That’s when it was over for me. When I forced myself to see the truth - that it was over for you.” He watched Sam through narrowed eyes and grinned. “Kinda ironic that I didn’t lose you as late as I thought.” 

Sam shrugged. “You didn’t... but you did.” He swallowed. “You know I could never trust you with Jack, right? No matter what you do. I never can. I never will.” 

Now that really did make the devil mad. His eyes glowed and his lip curled and he grabbed Sam by the throat and hauled him up against the tree until Sam’s feet dangled and his eyes rolled. Sam’s efforts to loosen Lucifer’s hold were half-hearted at best - no sense in wasting energy fighting a losing battle, and Lucifer needed Sam alive anyway. The devil seemed to realize that himself, after a long moment of just staring blankly at Sam with those red eyes of his. He lowered Sam gently to the ground, and in an instant, he was all smiles and apologies, brushing Sam’s clothes off and righting his collar like Sam was a lovably unruly kid who’d just come inside after rolling in the dirt. 

The metaphor struck Sam as particularly apt today on a variety of levels. 

“Sam, Sam... You gotta stop pushing my buttons, man. It makes it way harder than usual not to push back.” He grinned, mischievous, but Sam huffed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, keeping as much distance between the two as he could without making it look like he was running. 

Lucifer had gotten a lot less patient with Sam running over the years. 

“You... you...” Sam spluttered, and Lucifer adopted the kind of long-suffering, patronizing expression he’d perfected after breaking out of hell the second time. 

“‘I... I...’ what? Use your words, Sam.” 

With a viciousness that still surprised him, Sam quit pacing and stuck an accusatory finger in the devil’s face. “This is why, Lucifer!” he roared. “How is it possible that you are seriously not getting this? You’re one of the oldest beings in the history of creation, in _multiple universes_ , and you lack the basic self-awareness to understand why I, of all people, am completely justified not trusting you with a child. With any child, obviously, but of course how I, of all people, could never trust you with someone you feel connected to.” 

Lucifer stared at Sam placidly, while Sam’s chest heaved with the intensity of his outrage, before he burst out laughing in Sam’s face. “Really, Sam?” he howled, throwing his head back and letting the clear peals of his laughter echo unselfconsciously through the wood. Even knowing Lucifer was one of the biggest and baddest around, Sam cast a wary eye through the nearby underbrush, paranoid that something might hear. 

Lucifer didn’t care. He pitched forward to lean on his knees, still chuckling, the back of his neck exposed in a way that would mean trust with anyone else. But Lucifer didn’t trust Sam. He didn’t need to. Lucifer was powerful enough that he didn’t really need trust and he knew it. “Really, Sam?” Lucifer repeated. “If you wanna convince me that you’re over me, throwing a hissy about all our old drama isn’t the way to do it.” He tried to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, meant as a sort of mocking reassurance, but Sam pressed his lips and stepped out of reach. “C’mon, man, that was soooo two centuries ago. I thought we were working it all out, moving past it. Being adults about this.” 

Lucifer smiled one of those creepy, too-human grins, and Sam backed up until he was flush with the tree again, refusing to look at Lucifer’s face. The mocking physicality of it all made him simultaneously nauseous and just too damn tired. “That’s the fucking point,” he said, throwing his head back and trying to make out the graying clouds beyond the tree cover. “ _You_ were the one who was supposed to be the adult. You were the one who was supposed to know better.” Once upon a time, the admission would have made Sam feel weak and foolish, but somewhere between then and now he’d realized he was too old to worry about that. “You were the one who made promises about destiny and forgiveness and wholeness and bringing back dead parents and never, ever hurting me. And even when _I_ knew that I couldn’t be trusted, because I was stupid and wrong and made bad decisions, a part of me still wanted to believe you, still _did_ believe you. When someone tells you that they care about you and want what’s best for you, and you’re a scared, hurting kid who’s been given up on by your own family, you almost don’t have a choice but to grab the only life jacket left.” 

“Pfft. ‘Scared, hurting kid?’ Forgive me if I misunderstand the finer points of hairless ape culture, here, Sam, but if memory serves, you weren’t some lovesick little kid by human standards; you were, what, twenty-seven?” 

“Twenty-six.” 

“Excuse me; twenty-six. Whoop-di-freaking-doo. Sorry that the big bad devil-man came along and tried to offer you something you were genuinely looking for, Sam, something you genuinely wanted, whatever you may tell yourself and your brother and angelic Columbo when you’re all snuggled together safe and sound in your bunker.” Lucifer bowed and made a sweeping gesture like he was ushering Sam into a ballroom. “But, by all means, continue to play the victim. Continue to think of yourself as an innocent child, unfamiliar with the ways of the world, who just had _no idea_ what he was getting himself into. It’s not like you didn’t have plenty of time to deal with those tired old emotional issues you Winchesters are so famous for in the twenty-six years before I waltzed in and ruined everything by offering you the world on a fucking platter.” 

Sam pressed his lips together and shook his head incredulously. 

“What, Sam? Am I wrong? Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

Sam laughed, but it was hollow. He was a little surprised at the burning in his eyes, but he shouldn’t have been. If there was anyone, in all the dimensions and Earths and alternate universes, who could rival Dean’s ability to make Sam cry, it was definitely Lucifer. “You’re wrong,” Sam said, and even though his voice trembled, he felt strong. “You are so wro-” His voice caught and he took a minute to swallow the lump in his throat. “Because it’s not about the kid, Lucifer. It’s not about how old they are or how much shit they’ve already seen or whether or not they dotted the right i’s and crossed the right t’s on the consent form. If you’re older, if you’re stronger, if you have more _power_ , whatever that means in your situation, and you refuse to acknowledge it and treat those who don’t have as much accordingly... That’s all that matters, Lucifer.” Sam sucked in a shaky breath. Even though he didn’t love this... this man, person, being, wavelength of celestial intent, anymore, even if he never had in a way that was healthy and made sense, Sam still cared enough, just enough, to wish that Lucifer could somehow understand this one simple truth. 

The corners of Lucifer’s mouth turned down reproachfully. “The number of beings that are on my level barely fit on one hand, Sam. If I was relegated to treating everyone younger and less powerful than me with kid gloves... Well, that’s no fun.” 

“So?” 

Lucifer looked at Sam like he had two heads. “Whaddya mean, ‘so?’” he rumbled, his voice quiet and threatening. “We back to the old toss-him-in-and-throw-away-the-key gameplan my dad was so on board with? Because excuse me if an eternity of solitary confinement isn’t something I’m willing to put up with.” He got up in Sam’s face, but Sam didn’t flinch. “‘Chuck’ might have a soft spot for humans, for whatever asinine reason. And okay, fine, I get that. Or anyway, I can deal with it.” His eyes glinted. “But I refuse to be the blood sacrifice that pays for your freedom. I would rather burn the world down to molecules. I’d rather die.” 

Once, a very long time ago, Lucifer’s admission that he’d rather die would have elicited sympathy. But it was far from the first time Sam had heard the devil hint at a suicidal, freedom-or-death undercurrent of self-aggrandizement, and Sam wasn’t here for it today. 

“Your dad was wrong to lock you away like that.” It was an easy admission. Sam had only grown more certain of it when he met capital-G-God himself. “He was wrong not to try to help you, or to at least lock you up in heaven with the other angels. He was wrong not to try to work harder to make you understand. He was wrong then for the same reason that you were wrong when you used me as your scapegoat and you’ll inevitably be wrong when you turn on Jack for not being what you need when you need it. Because it’s wrong to put too much on someone younger and weaker than you. It’s wrong to get mad at them when they do things their own way, for their own reasons, because they couldn’t see what you could with all your experience and with the resources they don’t have access to. Guide them, sure, if it’s someone you’re responsible for or if for some reason they let you in. But if you want to guide, then you can’t sit around and pretend to be an equal, and hope to get something out of it, and then punish them for not being what you need, Lucifer.” Sam sighed. “You have two options here. Two options with Jack especially, but two options with literally almost every other being who exists in any of our known universes.” 

Lucifer crossed his arms. “Oh, this oughta be good. Pray tell, with all your wisdom that I’m somehow supposed to think is charming but not engage with as an equal. What are my options.” 

Sam sighed again. “Your options are to be the one who guides, which means that you put aside all your bullshit and bury it down deep away from where it can get out and hurt someone. It means focusing on other people’s needs equally if not more than your own. Or, you can just... not. But if you don’t get over yourself and your hurt, then you can’t be a guide. You can’t be a protector or provider or judge, and no matter what you want to have happen, you won’t be immune to people blaming you when you inevitably hurt them. You can’t be Jack’s parent, because you’re not ready for it.” 

Lucifer’s lip had started to curl, but Sam didn’t care. “That’s what it means to grow up, Lucifer,” Sam said sadly. “It means recognizing the impact you have, whether you’re ready for it or not, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t mean giving up all of what you are, or sacrificing yourself. But it does mean knowing you can’t seek what you need from people weaker than you are. Because no matter what you want, no matter how lonely it is - and trust me, it is really fucking lonely - they can never stand where you stand. Not even if they’re all-powerful nephilim. Not even if they’re twenty-six-year old kids with unconventional backstories and all the right kind of life experience to know better.” 

Lucifer stared at Sam for a long moment. For the briefest, most infinitesimal instant, Sam had a spark of hope.

But Lucifer crinkled his nose. “Thanks for the afterschool special, champ, I’ll take it under advisement.” Sam couldn’t hide the way his face twisted in bitter disappointment. “C’mon, Sammy, enough with the melodrama!” He tapped his wrist and his face brightened. “Time’s a-wastin’, and we need to get back to Jacko before Michael catches up and tries to fit him with the latest in medieval torture fashion. Trust me,” he stage whispered, “my big bro’s not the most creative but what he lacks he makes up for in gumption.” 

Lucifer took off with a spring in his step, confident that Sam would follow. 

Sam didn’t love him anymore. Not even a little bit. 

But he followed. He was made to follow Lucifer, and even if it was for entirely different reasons then when his thread of destiny had first been unspooled millennia before his own birth, Sam wouldn’t stop following Lucifer now. 

He squashed down his disappointment and let himself live with the quiet ache of old grief. The same kind of desperate anguish had delivered its first pang when Sam was ripped out of his glorious dream - flashes of toy soldiers wedged into ashtrays, initials carved into doors, and Dean’s blood splattered across his own knuckles. 

Back then, Sam had been young. And foolish. Of course he loved his brother, and of course a part of him ached for his brother’s pain... but the deepest wells of Sam’s agony had been reserved solidly for himself, for every frisson of betrayal and hopelessness that moved through him at the realization that Lucifer _had lied_. 

Sam hadn’t really expected salvation in a physical sense, per se, but for all that Sam tried to deny it at the time, Lucifer wasn’t wrong. Exhilaration. Two halves made whole. Blah, blah. It was garbage, but it felt real. Sam felt like he’d found the person who knew him, who got him. Who was finally on his side. Someone who could help Sam smooth out all his own rough edges, who could finally make Sam feel like he was loved, and worthy of that love. 

But when Dean had blinked up at him with one eye swollen shut and a mouth full of blood, Sam had realized that there was no rescue, after all. There never would be. 

He’d been wrong, of course. Sam smiled to himself ruefully as he followed the devil back toward his broken little family. There had been hope, and there had been rescue. But it had been hard-won, and the sacrifices had sometimes been too high, and at the very end of the day, Sam had had to save himself. Which had both been simultaneously the hardest thing he’d ever accomplished and much easier than he’d expected, when all was said and done. Not that he would have ever been able to explain that to the sad gawky kid staring down the barrel of an eternity in hell. But that was another part of what it meant to grow up. Knowing things that couldn’t really be explained until you’d survived them. 

All the same, Sam still felt that old twinge. Grief for Jack, who deserved a good father but would never have one. Grief for Castiel and Rowena and Dean and his mom and everyone else who’d had to deal with Lucifer’s shit and would continue to have to do so. For all the humans, angels, even demons, in this world and back home, who would become victims of Lucifer’s narcissism and violent bouts of childish frustration. For Gabriel, who really only had a single family member who remembered a time before time existed, who knew what it was like to be part of something so old and inhuman that Sam couldn’t really understand it... but for whom brotherhood could never again be synonymous with “family.” 

Sam felt grief for himself, but it was a distant sensation, a scar so thick it was almost numb to the touch, bandaged over with white-hot loathing that was the only emotion he was really capable of dredging up in his own defense anymore. The other emotions couldn’t help him, wouldn’t, and as long as Sam made very sure his vitriol didn’t spill out onto targets who didn’t deserve it or couldn’t take it, it was the greatest line of defense. 

Sam hated Lucifer, of course, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a muted kind of grief for the person he could have been. It was the kind of pity that couldn’t burn without it’s steadfast bedfellow, righteous anger, but it was a sort of pity all the same. The kind of pity Sam recognized watching his father and brother drink themselves to death, the kind of pity Sam felt for hunters who insisted on tackling missions they weren’t ready for. The pity you felt for a drowner steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that the water was so shallow that all they had to do was plant their feet against the bottom and stand up. 

But Lucifer refused. 

And just like always, Sam followed. 

For better or worse, this was on Sam. Just like it always had been and would always be. Until the day that Sam died or Lucifer died. Whichever came first. 

And now there was Jack. Just like Sam knew what it felt like to be the freak with powers and a purpose that felt completely out of his control, Sam intimately knew what it was like to have the great churning fire that was the Morningstar focused solely on him. 

Sam or Lucifer. One of them was going to die first. Jack would be left with whoever made it out alive. 

Sam pursed his lips and watched the back of Lucifer’s head with a quiet intensity he recognized from long, brutal hunts.

He wasn’t letting Lucifer get Jack. No matter what that meant. No matter what that meant Sam lost, what doors had to shut forever. 

Growing up never really stopped, he supposed. 

So a part of him could mourn what could have been. What would have been, if Lucifer had been able to get out of his own way. They could have been thunder and light and fury. They could have melted and remade the world. 

“My ex is the goddamned devil,” he remembered Caleb grousing in explanation, the very first time Sam and Dean had witnessed him hollering into the phone. 

Sam stifled a laugh. 

Caleb had no goddamned idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I know it probably looks like I'm Team Never!Samifer over here, but I started shipping these guys since before Lucifer even showed up onscreen in S4. That being said, it's been a hard ship to sail for... 8 seasons now, but the last two have been especially rough. Rightfully so, as Lucifer's character and the Sam/Lucifer relationship has slid solidly into something hateful and unhealthy canonically. If I get around to writing anymore fanfic, I almost definitely will return to this pairing in a happier light, but this fic was my way of working through the way the show has changed - both how the plot has changed, but also how shipping this pairing has been (unpleasantly) forced to change with it. I guess this is my own little lament for the kind of ship this could have been and the kind of ship most Samifer shippers started off wanting it to be, as well as an uncomfortable exploration of the harsh realities of what Samifer means (and in a canonical way, absolutely should mean) now. Plus a little of my own personal baggage thrown in for good measure. 
> 
> Please let me know if there's any tags I missed and need to add; I haven't posted to AO3 before. Also, heads-up that historically I've gotten cold feet about posting fanfic and sometimes take it down when I don't like it anymore, so if for some reason you love it, feel free to save and even share with friends if you want, but please don't post it online anywhere else. Thank you!


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